-From the Journal of Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi-
Back on Coruscant for a few weeks and I finally have a little time
to write in my journal. So much has happened since I last had time
to write, but there is one thing I want to write about quickly,
while it is still fresh in my mind. While we're home, Qui-Gon
decided that now would be an appropriate time for me to attempt the
pain exercises again. I'm on the second day.
I'm doing well this time, I believe. Only one mistake today and not
a bad one anyway, so it seems that I will finally pass this trial.
Qui-Gon will probably be much relieved. He isn't much one for
causing pain. Not that it really hurts that much; the flogger isn't
designed to really hurt. It's made of the hair of some kind of
animal, glossy black and long and it does sting, reddens the skin
some but it doesn't even leave much of a welt and certainly won't
draw blood.
When I first took the pain trials I was fourteen and, quite
naturally, I failed miserably. At fourteen, you are expected to. I
can still remember it, on my knees in front of my master, bent over
so that my forehead was pressed to the ground and feeling the sting
of the lash across the bare skin of my back.
As I said, it doesn't really hurt much but even a small pain becomes
unbearable after a certain amount of time. At fourteen, I didn't
even last fifteen minutes before I was sobbing, struggling not to
flinch away from the blows raining down on my back.
The very moment the tears started, Qui-Gon had stopped, pulled me
into his arms and soothed the tears away. A touch of healing Force
and I was well again.
He hadn't been upset, not at all. As I said, that was expected at
fourteen. It was when I failed again at seventeen that he was
disappointed.
It was on the second day of the trial. I'd made it through the
required hour on the first day but only just barely and nearly
through the first hour of the second day, I broke.
I remember that quite clearly too, my shame as I knew I had failed
completely combined with the feeling of large, cool hands against my
burning skin. He had soothed me like he had at fourteen, although I
could feel the sting his disappointment.
He didn't understand, he told me later. I had done so well in our
practices, I had always handled pain well on our missions...
I couldn't explain it to him, not then, because I didn't understand
it then myself.
Be honest with yourself, Kenobi, you don't understand it any better
now.
The pain exercises involve distancing your mind from your body so
that you don't feel the pain and I've never had a problem with that.
I suppose that's why my master thought I was ready.
Apparently I wasn't.
I made no excuses to him, didn't tell him much of anything in fact.
How could I explain to him that this was different than getting hurt
on a mission? That this wasn't simply distancing from pain, but from
pain that he was inflicting.
I'm not sure if it would mean anything to him but it made a galaxy
of difference to me.
And now I'm taking the trials again. I did well yesterday, not a
sound, not a whimper. I knelt there for the one hour until he was
finished and although he tried to hide it, I could feel his pride in
me.
I have to wonder how proud he would be if he knew I wasn't nearly as
distant as he thought I was. That, in fact, I had been quite aware
the entire time, feeling every lash burn its way across my back
because...
Be honest, Kenobi, no one is going to see this but you.
I was feeling everything because I wanted to feel it, to feel every
single stinging blow and the only thing that kept me from crying out
was the knowledge that if I did it would stop.
But knowing that doesn't help me understand why I wanted it.
And then today, oh, I don't know how I withstood it. I nearly
didn't, several times I came far too close to crying out but again
knowing that any sound would end it kept me silent.
My only error came when his aim shifted slightly and he struck me
across the backside.
I didn't exactly cry out, only gasped but he hesitated a brief
second after I did.
I swear my heart nearly pounded out of my chest I was so terrified
he would stop, but all he did was warn me against complacency and
then it began again.
By the time he finished my back felt as if it were on fire. And I'm
ashamed to say that I was grateful for the traditional kneeling
position by then. Not because I was afraid that I couldn't stand but
because by then I was so hard that I ached and had I been standing I
would have had to try to explain away my erection.
And then he touched me again, his hands wonderfully cool against my
heated skin. I felt him gathering Force to heal me and I stopped
him.
Yesterday, he had healed me, just as he had when I was young but
today I asked him not to. I told him I wanted to use this
opportunity to 'practice my own healing techniques'.
Qui-Gon allowed it, even looked pleased.
That wasn't the first time that I've bypassed the truth a little
with him but I swear it was the first time that I felt so guilty
about it.
We went back to our quarters and I slipped into my rooms. He
probably thought I was going to meditate. Instead, I stripped out of
my clothes and stood in front of the mirror, craning my head over my
shoulder to see my back.
My skin had still been reddened, only a few welts scattered about
and one streak of red across my backside. He must have belted me a
good one for it to be as red as it had been and I found myself
touching it, fondling the slightly raised weal that dyed my skin
crimson.
I found the idea that he had marked me strangely arousing, that his
hand had caused this undeniable symbol.
I had been aroused since this morning, waking to thoughts of my
trials and by then my need had been almost unbearable.
This...I'm almost too ashamed to write this but denying it won't
make it any less real.
I had lain down on my bed, on my back so that I could feel the cool
sheets against my skin and so the pressure would make the abused
skin flare to life again. I had wanted to feel it.
Lying there I touched myself and I relived the last two days again
in my mind, savoring every burning stroke of the lash through my
memories, especially the feeling of that one strike across my
backside. And in my mind the scene...changed.
Behind my eyes, I saw my master stop and order me to strip out of my
leggings and I obeyed, confused and blushing as my arousal was
exposed to eyes. He didn't comment on it, instead he motioned me
back into my kneeling position.
I knelt there, my forehead pressed to ground and the hair at the
back of my neck prickling, feeling more naked and exposed than I
ever had in my life as I waited.
A light touch against my skin and I flinched slightly before I
realized what it was. The lash, its hair scratching against my skin
but so light this time that I could barely feel it, trailing over
the hot skin on my back, teasing the cleft of my buttocks. The thin
filaments were strangely soothing and even a bit ticklish and I
found myself relaxing into it.
The sudden strike across my backside caught me off-guard and I
nearly cried out, bit my lip hard to stop the sound. Again and
again, harder than he had before and I knew my ass had to be glowing
red but I still held back the cries that were trying to escape. Of
pain? Of need? I didn't know but the pressure of my erection, caught
between my thighs and my stomach, was almost unbearable.
I started to move, unable to help myself but I wasn't cringing away
from those blows. I was rocking backwards into them, into each flick
of the lash.
And then it was over. I lay there panting and trembling, my backside
on fire and my entire being aching with -need-.
Then he touched me, large hands, familiar and cool on my back, my
buttocks, soothing me and I trembled anew. I almost lost control and
cried out when his mouth replaced his fingers, tracing each welt
with his tongue and making new fire race along them. Lower, liquid
heat against my backside as he parted my cheeks and ran his tongue
down to the entrance of my body. His tongue was replaced by fingers,
slick with some kind of oil and he opened me, sliding his fingers
inside.
Again, I nearly cried out but sheer stubbornness held me, that and
the desperate knowledge that if I made a sound this would end. Those
slippery fingers were easing in and out of me and I shivered as I
thought of what they were preparing me for.
They withdrew from me and I was forced to wait again. My sight was
stolen from me by my position but I could hear clothing rustling. I
urged him silently to hurry and to please, please give me what I so
desperately craved.
I felt him shift to kneel behind me, felt thick, blunt pressure
against my anus and then he pressed harder, sliding inside my body.
It burned, the way the lash had burned across skin and I wanted this
just as much, more.
Hard pressure and he pushed deeper, my body opened to his invasion
and, oh, it was the most difficult thing I had ever done, holding so
still while he slowly entered me. Rough cloth abraded my abused
backside and I realized that he hadn't undressed, had only opened
his clothing and somehow that excited me even more, the idea of my
fully clothed master draped over my naked body.
Yes, I mouthed silently, yes, take me, possess me, own me.
As if he had heard my silent pleas he suddenly surged inside me and
I nearly screamed as the burn flared into pain and ecstasy. He
didn't stop, only rocked backwards and deeply inside me again and I
had wanted this for so long, needed it and, oh I was coming, I was
exploding or imploding and I tasted blood I was biting my lip so
hard, holding back screams of affirmation that I was -his-. And
being his, he was also mine.
Blackness fluttered briefly before my eyes and I blinked hazily up
at the ceiling of my quarters, alone, with nothing touching me but
my own hand.
I've never had such an intense fantasy before. In my complete
immersion, I'd actually bitten my lip. I'd never felt anything like
that, ever, though I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought of my
master that way before.
Master.
I shouldn't enjoy calling him that so much. I just...I shouldn't.
Well, I think I've written enough for this night, I still need to
meditate and work on healing my back. And now my lip. Much as I'd
like to keep the welts, like a memento I suppose, Qui-Gon would most
definitely notice and I can't see myself explaining to him why I
haven't healed them.
I can hardly talk about this with myself, how could I speak of it to
him, my gentle master who I am sure loathes putting me through these
trials. A part of me desperately wants to speak of it, to ask if
this is even appropriate and if it is not then to ask how I should
stop it but...I can't. I can't.
Tomorrow will be that last day of my pain trials. Strange, that for
the first time in my life I am not relieved to be passing a trial
and putting yet another milestone behind me. In truth I am actually
dreading it because when I pass tomorrow, it will be the last time
that I ever feel my master touch me that way.
And I will pass. No matter how much I regret that I won't be able to
experience this again, I would rather live out my life without it
than ever see that disappointment in his eyes again.
I am going to kneel before him and feel every stroke burn its way
across my back. And I am going to memorize the feel of it, treasure
every single blow so that in times when I am alone I can take that
memory out and relive it.
I think when I heal my back, I'll leave the welt on my ass. Qui-Gon
won't see it and for at least a little while every time I sit down
I'll have a brief reminder of this. It will only last a day, perhaps
two before it fades and heals on its own, I know, but just for those
days, just for a very short time, I can pretend that he gave me that
mark because I belong to him.
OWK
-finis-
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